


tragedy in the face of losing you

by Bloomix (boudicas)



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)
Genre: F/F, Soulmate AU, Soulmate Pain, pain telepathy, subtle rewrite of episodes 4 and 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boudicas/pseuds/Bloomix
Summary: Bloom always knew Beatrix Raiden was morally ambiguous. She did things for herself, that much she could tell. But she never knew she was capable ofkillingsomeone.Of course Bloom’s soulmate of all people would be the villain of her story.
Relationships: Beatrix/Bloom (Winx Club)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	tragedy in the face of losing you

**Author's Note:**

> I have a different soulmate au that I’m outlining, but I wanted to make a two-shot after rewatching the opening scenes to episode five. Furthermore, there are very few who ship Bloom and Beatrix, which feels like a sin??? They would SERVE together. Also, a HUGE thank you to Jordan who beta read this! <3

Soulmates aren’t an uncommon occurrence. At least that’s what everyone in the Otherworld has told her thus far. The only catch is that it can be incredibly difficult to find your soulmate. There are seven realms, of course finding one person would be next to impossible. 

That’s why soulmates are granted with one indicating connection. 

They can feel each other’s pain. 

The first time it happened, Bloom was doing her homework in the library. She was reading up on the origins of fairies, pushing on her clicky pen obnoxiously. Several times Aisha pointed it out, but Bloom was unaware of it, an unconscious habit. 

A familiar dull ache burrowed into her knuckles. It was barely perceptible at first; something that only caused her to shake the feeling away, but then it flourished into a blinding heat. Bloom was accustomed to the searing sensations brought upon by fire, but this? This felt like crashing her fist into someone’s skull. 

She cussed under her breath, swearing up and down. People at other tables were telling her to put a sock in it, glaring at her for the interruption. Her mouth snapped shut as she unhelpfully flailed her hand. 

Terra, like the concerned and compassionate person she was, asked what happened. 

And, well, Bloom couldn’t really give her an answer. The pain was unwarranted. All she had been doing before it was read, and you know, rapidly click at her pen while her mind went numb from the information it was forced to absorb. 

She apologized sheepishly then since she didn’t have the ability to reply honestly. 

The second time it happened, she was with Sky during the Specialist’s annual party. A sort of tension had arisen between them, and she didn’t know how to handle it. Her only goal thus far was to control her powers and refrain from hurting anybody else she cared about. The last thing she needed was to have a boy complicate things. 

They were talking about Silva, Sky admitting how close the two actually were. But then he started asking about her parents, and honestly, that was the last thing she wanted to think about. So she suggested a round of beer pong, noticing people play earlier. 

Although, when Sky helped her to her feet, she felt the distinct burn of nostrils before a nose bleed. Swiping at her nose, she tested to see if there really was blood, but when she frowned at a clean finger, Sky questioned if she was okay. 

Ignoring the little blip, she motioned to the game of beer pong, brushing off his worry. Just another minor inconvenience she’d sweep under the rug. 

The third time, though, Bloom figured out what it was. A day prior, Musa explained that she had found her soulmate, confessing that it was Terra’s brother. Bloom dismissed it as exaggeration, that she simply found someone with who she connected on a cellular level. However, Aisha inquired about how the pain telepathy worked in conjunction with her empathy perception, and Bloom’s brain just about stopped working. 

_Aisha said what now?_

Her roommates easily explained the basics of soulmates, that it was just what it sounded like. They told her that most people were gifted with them, and somehow, Bloom felt cheated because how was that not one of the first things she learned at school? 

Soulmates were connected through pain, and their bonds were unmatched to any other relationship in their life. 

So, when Bloom experienced yet another unexplainable bout of pain, she understood. 

God, she understood. 

The moment of clarity sent her into a state of euphoria because she was capable of experiencing this life-altering relationship that others raved about. The only problem was finding out who exactly was her soulmate. 

It wasn’t any one of her roommates, and it certainly wasn’t Sky. If it was Riven, Bloom would burn the school to the ground. Not actually, but she entertained the idea for a few minutes. 

Musa _did_ mention that she was extremely lucky to find hers. Apparently, finding one’s soulmate wasn’t as easy as it sounded. And, just like that, Bloom decided to forget all about soulmates. 

She wasn’t going to let this consume her. 

Besides, she had much more important matters to attend to. Like finding out who the hell burned their existence into her memory.

* * *

Bloom is exhausted. She’s been holed up in the basement, searching through a plethora of withered files and dust sprinkled photos. Despite grueling over what essentially feels like ancient artifacts, she’s come out empty handed. Not a single hint as to who her birth parents could possibly be. 

She’s upset at the world. Upset at Rosalind. 

Her entire reality has been ripped out from right beneath her. 

Rumors are circulating about her, about how dangerous she is. She’s _not_ dangerous. She just needed to learn how to control her magic. And she has. 

A changeling, Aisha had called her. Her thoughts momentarily drift to her unknown soulmate. She wonders what they would think of her, wonders if they’d still love her despite her uncontrolled birth switch. Wonders if—

“Looks like I’m not the only one up to know good,” comes a voice from the entryway. 

A thrill rushes through her when she glances up, finding Beatrix of all people smirking at her. She’s avoided interactions with the girl thus far, which can be incredibly difficult considering they share most of their classes. Her roommates have warned her about the air fairy, sharing stories of her being an arrogant try-hard who loves her PDA. 

More than once Bloom has seen her making out with Riven in the halls. 

She always took their words with a grain of salt, but when Aisha showed her Beatrix’s Instagram story after the Specialist party, she finally understood that they weren’t fully dramatizing. 

Even so, being around Beatrix is magnetic. With a single look, it’s like she can see straight through her, scrutinizing her soul for everything it’s worth. She holds herself with poise, mannerisms charming in everything she does. 

Bloom can’t really look away, even though she wants to. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bloom says shortly, crossing her arms.

“I could say the same to you, love.” 

Beatrix glances at the photo dangling from Bloom’s fingertips. “Let me guess, you think she was the one who swapped you out in the First World.” She steps closer, intimidating even more so when they’re only inches apart. “She was a fierce bitch.” 

“At the party, you said you didn’t know who she was,” Bloom points out, inhaling sharply when her back presses into metal. 

“You were cagey about the ‘why,’ so I was cagey about the ‘who,’” says Beatrix, reaching for something behind Bloom. She traps the fire fairy against the shelf, eyes brazenly tracing over her. 

Bloom takes a second to settle her breathing, praying that Beatrix can’t hear the erratic thumping of her heart. She knows her face is flushed, can feel the familiar warmth of gay panic color the apples of her cheeks. 

She swallows thickly. Is Beatrix this… _forward_ with everyone? Even though Bloom is taller, Beatrix radiates a defiance that doesn’t falter. Her entire demeanor is imposing. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway ‘cause all I found were dead ends.” She shrugs, attempting to muster any ounce of confidence. It’s difficult when Beatrix is looking at her like _that_. Like she can’t get enough of her. “Except for that.”

She motions to the door with her eyes, and Beatrix finally steps back, allowing Bloom the momentary reprieve to let out a shaky breath. Her muscles are pulled tight, easily intimidated by the shorter girl. 

“So let’s go in.”

“Why are you down here again?” Bloom shakes her head, coming back to her senses. Clammy palms fold into tight fists. After what Beatrix posted during the Specialist’s party, she shouldn’t even be talking to the shorter girl.

Beatrix holds this constant air of superiority, and it crawls under Bloom’s skin. “Being on your side,” she says matter of factly, folding her hands in front of her. 

Bloom scoffs instantly. She’s kidding, right? “I don’t need help from someone who posted a video mocking my friend.”

“Look,” Bloom’s brows pinch together at Beatrix’s subtly patronizing tone. “I know the video was extra, but I didn’t say anything. I was a bystander. If you want to be mad at someone, consider the douchebag who’s been telling everyone you’re a changeling.” 

“Wait, you know who started that?” Bloom asks, losing her edge. She fiddles with the rings on her fingers. Aisha would never betray her like that, so it’s been gnawing away at her about how the entirety of Alfea seems to know about her birth status.

“I know who’s _spreading_ it,” Beatrix clarifies, possessing more regality than Bloom can muster into a raised pinky finger. “Riven Jones ring a bell to you?” 

During the party, she had hung out with him and Sky. Bloom wouldn’t put it past him, but she doesn’t trust the mocha-eyed girl. Beatrix only ever does things if there’s something to gain from it, that much she can ascertain. 

Bloom is skeptical, clenching her jaw. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good.” Beatrix smiles coyly. “Then we don’t owe each other a thing. Now, about this door…”

“It’s locked,” Bloom replies, tugging at the chunk of metal in explanation. 

“And you’re a fire fairy, Bloom,” Beatrix states the obvious, wrinkling her nose. She pins her with an expectant look. “I’ve seen you in class. I know you’re powerful.” 

Something about the way Beatrix calls her powerful reassures Bloom, almost like her opinion matters. It’s a little disarming if she’s being quite honest. She doesn’t want Beatrix to have this much of an effect on her. She doesn’t want Beatrix to have an effect on her at all. 

“Question is…” continues the air fairy, a challenging lilt to her voice, “how powerful?”

“If I wanted to, I could get through this door,” Bloom grits out, pacing the raised platform to the door. Her body ignites like it’s ready to prove her point. “I’d light the whole school on fire in the process, but power? That’s not the problem.” 

Another cunning grin. “Good to know.” 

Bloom goes back to the shelves, maybe she’ll be able to find a crowbar or- or _something_. “Or I can fry off the hinges?” she suggests, facing Beatrix once more. 

The air fairy triumphantly raises the lock, every bit as smug as Bloom has known her to be. “Or I could just… pick the lock.”

Bloom flounders, opening and closing her mouth uselessly. “Yeah, that’s- uh, that’s much cleaner.”

Scorch marks would’ve immediately pinned her as a suspect. 

Beatrix pulls open the door, motioning for the fire fairy to enter first. However, when Bloom passes her, Beatrix’s eyes wander all over her—dilated pupils taking in something Bloom can’t see. She feels exposed under her gaze. 

Ignoring the feeling, she moves to the racks of scrolls, fingertips dancing over the papers. Sizzling catches her attention, reminding her of oil splattering. Vibrant cerulean reflects into her vision, electricity capering through delicate hands. A current zaps at the circular pit of sand in the center of the room. 

“I knew Alfea had a military past, but it’s still a school,” Bloom emphasizes the last word. The sand shoots up, morphing into an identical replica of their school before mapping out the surrounding terrain. Her mouth subtly falls open in awe. “This is like a war room.”

“It’s not _like_ a war room,” Beatrix corrects. Golden light emits from under the sand, dancing across Beatrix’s skin, and it reminds Bloom of golden hour, that one perfect moment where everyone sparkles like ethereal gods. Beatrix looks… heavenly. “It _is_ a war room.” 

“A place where dangerous, shady-arse people-” Bloom snorts at the word, biting her lip. She still hasn’t quite gotten used to people saying _arse_ instead of ass. “-decide who lives and who dies.” 

“It’s sickening how expendable people are treated,” mutters Bloom, a lump in her throat. 

She sifts through the billions of folders and boxes, glancing over leather-bound books. When she finds a book logging the school’s escapades in 2004, she sits down at a table and skims through the pages. 

Bloom expects Beatrix to wander off and find other files to scour over, but instead, she feels someone hover behind her. Beatrix leans over her shoulder; their faces centimeters apart. She forgets how to breathe. 

Like usual, when Beatrix does something that’s unnerving, Bloom tries her best to shrug off the attention. It’s a little impossible to do when she can feel Beatrix’s breath on her skin, darting chills down her spine. Her entire body is tense, but it’s whatever. She just needs to find out where Rosalind was. 

Everything is a-okay. 

They stay like that for a while, Beatrix looms over her while she reads recorded attendance of the school. When she reaches December of 2004, she falls forward onto the table, lightly banging her head against the logbook. 

“Rosalind was barely at the school in 2004,” she mumbles into the table, feeling a headache come on. 

Beatrix lifts herself onto the table, crossing her legs. “No shit,” she rolls her eyes, seeming mind-numbingly bored. “She was leading the crusade against the Burned Ones.” 

Bloom massages the bridge of her nose with her index finger, taking in the information. “I just need to find out where she was in December ‘cause that’s when I was born.” 

Beatrix appears like something finally piqued her interest, and she filters through worn down, tanning pages. “You were born in December of 2004?” She peeks at her through long lashes.

Bloom shrugs, subtly glancing at the shorter girl. “Yeah. My birth certificate from the First World says December twelfth. I’m assuming it was a few days before.”

“That certainly tracks,” Beatrix hums knowingly. 

Her words aren’t vague and suspicious whatsoever. 

Her phone bings five times in succession, one message after another. Paying it no attention, she continues, “I think this is her schedule from that year.” 

Dates and time slots glare up at her, hiding away information that Bloom is slowly figuring out how to decipher. Rosalind has been all over Solaria, but she’s also been to Eraklyon and Linphea.

Chiming more, Beatrix glares at her and huffs, “That’s mildly annoying.”

Checking her phone, she sees a plethora of texts from the girls… and Sky, too. “It’s nothing,” she brushes off, tossing her phone onto the table. “Endless suite group texts. I’ll deal with it later.” Picking up a piece of paper she reads a name, “It looks like Rosalind was in a place called Aster Dell. Maybe my birth parents weren’t students. Maybe they were from this Aster Dell place.”

“Did you say Aster Dell?” Beatrix asks somberly, like whatever she knows is potentially dangerous. 

Bloom frowns. “Yeah? Can you make that map thing work again? Maybe I can find it.” 

She gets up, standing before the pit. It briefly crosses her mind that maybe all fairies can use it, only needing to provide magic for operation. 

“No need.” Bloom turns quickly with much less grace than an elephant, intrigued by Beatrix’s knowledge of the place. “I know where that is. Wanna go?” 

Knowing Beatrix to be a history adept, Bloom expected her to be familiar with Aster Dell in the context of past events. She’s startled when the air fairy offers to take her there, on a school day no less. They’re not even allowed off of school property without permission from administrators. 

And she also, you know, doesn’t trust her. Like at all. 

Bloom sputters, eyes wide. “What like- like now?” 

“It’s a few hours from here.” Beatrix shrugs, no hint of mirth in her eyes. 

Oh, she’s like dead serious right now. 

Bloom immediately refuses. “You ditched assembly, broke into a secret war room-”

“ _You_ ditched assembly and broke into a secret war room as well babes,” Beatrix reminds, and Bloom’s throat constricts at the brazen use of a nickname. “Now you want to give up?”

Bloom chokes down the lump in her throat. “I’m saying that it’s getting late, and maybe I don’t wanna ditch school with someone I barely know.” 

“You know that I’ve got you further than anyone else has, and that I’m also ditching school with someone I barely know,” Beatrix counters sardonically. “But maybe Dowling will spill her guts now that you’ve found her secret war room that she keeps under lock and key.”

Bloom breaks, steeling her jaw. “How would we get there?”

“Let me worry about that.” 

Beatrix leaves with a self-satisfied smirk, and Bloom feels her stomach drop.

* * *

Bloom paces the road, kicking around gravel as she impatiently waits for Beatrix. 

She’s aware that their plan is a little more than asinine. Sneaking out of school? Visiting a village Bloom knows remotely nothing about? Yeah, maybe she’s lost it. 

But she also needs to know more. Who were her birth parents? How did they die? Are they even dead? 

Dowling is determined to hide everything from her, and Beatrix is offering her a chance at finding some answers. If she has to team up with a morally ambiguous egotist, then she will. 

She just hopes it doesn’t blow up in her face.

Bloom is ripped from her thoughts, irritating honking smashing her ears drums. A black jeep wrangler pulls up to her, and she scrambles to get in, momentarily forgetting that the driver’s side is switched. 

Seriously, how can you drive with the steering wheel on the right?

“You stole a car?” Bloom questions, mildly impressed. She straps herself in, noting the flags waving at the bumpers. “How do you know how to steal a car?”

“I know how to do a lot of things.” She bites her lip, gaze dipping lower, and Bloom flusters, tucking a hair behind her ear. 

They drive off into the horizon, passing rows of trees and low-rising mountains. A thick veil of silence settles over them; well, at least for Bloom. She doesn’t know what to talk about, or if they should even be talking. 

Beatrix is uncaring, masking her features with an indifferent facade. The hum of the engine and the occasional rock of the car fill the auditory void. Blue skies hover above, swaying with very few clouds.

It’s weird. Being with Beatrix is oddly… not uncomfortable? Like, nothing is expected of her. She doesn’t have to be overtly amicable or be attentive to the air fairy’s feelings. 

And she’s not on edge. She doesn’t trust Beatrix, but there’s this gut-feeling that she won’t hurt her. It’s unsettling how unworried she is being with her. 

By some horrific miracle, her gut-feeling is proven right in the next few hours to come. 

Bloom adjusts her seat, leaning it back further. “I’m hungry,” she complains, pouting the slightest. “Are you hungry?”

“We’re almost there,” Beatrix ignores her question, running a hand through her hair. “If it’s that pressing of an issue, we can pick something up on our way back.” 

Bloom’s mouth gapes, not expecting the offer for food. “I, uh, yes please. That’d be great.” 

She shrugs, not bothering to look over. “It’s whatever.” 

“How much longer–” 

Metal clangs, glass cracking. A shadowy figure claws into steel, screeching like nails on a chalkboard. Bloom scrambles back onto the seat, heart hammering as if it’s trying to break free. The windshield creaks, barely holding under its weight. Beatrix slams the horn, scaring the Burned One enough to fall off the hood. 

“Get out of the car,” Beatrix orders, shutting off the engine and whipping open her door. 

“What? Why?” Bloom feels incredibly safer inside the vehicle than out. 

“Because we’ll have to walk home if it bloody breaks it!” 

“Right, right.” She practically falls out of the car, mustering enough concentration to set her palms aflame. 

Beatrix is facing off the Burned One, discharging powerful bursts of electricity. Static thickens the atmosphere and causes Bloom’s hair to stand on end. Screeching erupts into the crisp afternoon air.

In a flash, Beatrix is pinned to the floor, struggling to push it away from her. 

And Bloom feels it. 

Bloom feels all of it. 

Her back sears like her flesh is being shredded against asphalt. Pain blossoms from her shoulders and strangles her throat. It’s debilitating, forcing her to her knees. 

“Bloom!” Beatrix gasps out, electricity pulsing through the Burned One. But it isn’t enough. She’s in no position to generate more. 

All the air feels vacuumed from her lungs. She watches helplessly as claws rip into Beatrix’s stomach, blood-curdling screams rupture from them both. 

Bloom keels over, clutching her abdomen. 

And that’s when it clicks for Beatrix, too. Bloom can see it in her gaze, can clearly see the recognition dawning her pained features. It’s enough to funnel a hellstorm of emotion out of the fire fairy. 

Beatrix is her soulmate. 

Her soulmate is dying. 

A war cry, unlike any scream Bloom has unleashed in her lifetime, erupts flames from the very depths of her soul, aimed right at the Burned One. It’s blasted clean off of Beatrix, the fire not harming a single hair on her body. 

Ash and smoke linger in its wake, staining the road with jet black soot. The Burned One disintegrated, falling apart into no more than a breath of air. 

Bloom clambers over to Beatrix, palms splitting open as they scratch against sharpened gravel. Her entire body is on fire, not in the familiar way that it heats up when she uses magic. No, that heat reminds her of a warm summer’s day spent lying on the shore of a beach. This?

This feels like soaking in a vat of battery acid. 

Bloom throws off her jacket, stripping off her shirt and tearing at it. She pushes Beatrix’s blazer off of her shoulders, leaving her in a striped, knitted long sleeve. 

Beatrix winces before quipping, “Take me to dinner first.” 

Bloom’s eyes burn, warping her vision as tears threaten to spill. Her shirt works as a makeshift bandage, and she moves away Beatrix’s feeble hands, applying more pressure than either of them wants to feel. 

“We’re not talking about this,” Bloom mutters, watching as her shirt dyes scarlet. She feels like crying, doesn’t know how Beatrix is holding back tears. 

Beatrix rolls her eyes, mumbling, “It doesn’t make it any less true.” 

Bloom presses down harder, effectively shutting up the shorter girl. She tries to think back on her knowledge of first aid, and right now, it’s appearing to be quite minimal. 

Beatrix folds a cold hand onto hers, the corner of her lip quirking in that familiar fox-like way. 

Why is she so cold?

“You killed the Burned One,” she says slowly, attempting to hold back a wheeze. Even when she’s on the floor dying, she doesn’t want to appear weak in front of others. “There’s no infection. It’s just a scratch.” 

“You’re literally bleeding out,” Bloom urges, fumbling to reach her phone with one hand. “I’ll call for help. Do they have ambulances in Solaria? Is that even a thing? Oh fuck.” 

Bloom refuses to watch Beatrix bleed out on the floor. Feeling someone die? Would she die too? She’s about to faint. 

“You’re a fire fairy, are you not?” Beatrix grits out, demanding Bloom to look at her. “Do you know what cauterization is?” 

“Yeah, but like every medical professional ever doesn’t recommend it!” Bloom refutes, trembling. Her body is having a momentary lapse because it’s under distress, but she isn’t actually wounded anywhere. “The burns it leaves afterward are more likely to induce sepsis.” 

Where was that medical knowledge two minutes ago? 

“Then don’t burn me.” A half-hearted grin turns into a grimace. 

“I really don’t think-” 

Beatrix cuts her off, groaning, “Are you really going to let me bleed out?” 

“You said it was just a scratch!” 

“Obviously I was _lying!_ ”

Bloom nods, dispelling the unexpected emotions and trying to calm her jackrabbit heart at knowing what she has to do. “Are you sure about this?” 

Beatrix snaps her gaze away from their hands and looks at her incredulously. “Okay, tip: don’t ask something like that if _you’re_ the one doing the cauterizing.”

Bloom clears her throat and nods with commitment. “Right. You’re right. I can do this.”

She removes the makeshift cloth, watches as crimson gushes and smears the contours of Beatrix’s abs. She hates everything about this situation. Hates that they’re soulmates. Hates that Beatrix is in pain. Hates that she can feel it. Hates that Dowling has been keeping secret after secret. 

A bare palm settles over the wound, having to hold back a gag. Her other hand is on Beatrix’s shoulder, holding both of them steady. She shakes like a leaf as she concentrates on her magic. 

Oh God, what if she makes it worse?

Pushing the thought away, she takes a deep breath and focuses on the gash. She zones in on Beatrix’s nerve endings which are firing a million messages to both of their brains. 

“Wait,” Beatrix hisses. Bloom relaxes her tense body, but her hand presses down in surprise when Beatrix grabs her shoulder and kisses her. She pulls her in close, and her other hand comes up quickly to the back of her neck and holds her in, but Bloom wouldn’t pull away even if Beatrix hadn’t held her captive—she’s stock-still as Beatrix kisses her, too shocked to even respond.

Beatrix pulls back, shaking, shivering, and looking horribly the worse for wear despite the sly grin on her lips.

“Wha- What-” Bloom stammers urgently.

Beatrix tilts her head cockily and grimaces in pain. “I hope pissing you off means you’ll stop shaking,” she snaps, hand tightening on her shoulder. 

Bloom’s mouth drops open, eyes narrowing in rage. “ _You-_ ”

The tether between them serves as Bloom’s guide when she begins. It’s subtle but she’s able to tell when the cauterizing is too much, when it’s doing more damage than good. Although, her own abdomen contracts in pain during the burning, causing her palm to slip. 

Beatrix smacks her hand on top of Bloom’s, keeping her steady. “Almost done there?” 

“There, you’re practically back to normal.” Bloom forces a smile before peeking at her hands. 

She almost blacks out. 

Instead, she wipes them off on a nearby patch of grass before helping Beatrix situp. She struggles to tie her shirt around Beatrix’s stomach but manages. They cling to each other as they stand on wobbly legs, and Bloom feels like this is taking three-legged foot races to the next level. 

“Nice bra,” Beatrix snickers, and Bloom sputters. “I always assumed your outfits only consisted of red and black. The white lace is a nice touch.” 

Bloom momentarily considered hurting herself so Beatrix could feel it, but she thought better of it. 

After seating Beatrix in the passenger seat, Bloom is quick to slip into her leather jacket, zipping it up tightly. “I’m driving us back to Alfea,” Bloom insists, watching in awe as Beatrix manipulates electricity to turn on the ignition. 

“Aster Dell is only ten minutes away. We’re practically here,” she brushes off, motioning further down the road. 

Bloom glances at Beatrix’s stomach, trying not to frown. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. She should not care about the shorter girl, she reminds herself. 

“The cauterization was only a temporary fix,” Bloom cautions, shaking her head. “I’m not letting you die from sepsis.” 

“You find out we’re soulmates, and suddenly you care,” Beatrix observes, eyeing her carefully. 

“I-” Bloom doesn’t bother to respond, flooring the gas pedal. Driving on the right side is really fucking awkward. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the smirk tugging ruby lips, and Bloom does everything in her power to ignore the air fairy. 

Except, if Beatrix tells her to turn, she listens. 

They stop at a cliffside overlooking the vast ocean, but it’s a desolate wasteland. Did Beatrix really tell her to drive to the middle of nowhere? Is this how she gets kidnapped and dies? 

The both of them aren’t fairing well. Beatrix is bone-weary, and her injuries are taking a toll on Bloom. 

A crisp breeze washes over them and reminds her of California beaches in the middle of June. The subtle scent of fern caresses her senses, soothing the two. Glancing around, she doesn’t see any trace of life.

“Aster Dell was a town, right?” Bloom twirls in place, wondering if she’s missing something. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“I’m positive.” Beatrix’s accent curls around the words. 

She looks around once more, and surprise, surprise, there’s still nothing. “How could a town be marked on a map if it’s on the side of a mountain?” 

The wind picks up when Bloom’s foot gets caught on a… skull? 

Bloom’s heart hammers in her throat. “What the hell is this place?”

Her abdomen strains, reminding her of sore muscles after working out for the first time in months. 

“You’re not the only powerful fairy at Alfea.” 

Bloom whips around, stomach dropping. Intense cerulean funnels into a ball above Beatrix’s head. Sparks flying sporadically. 

“Beatrix, what are you doing!” she yells with outstretched palms. The corners of her vision gleam like a dying sun. Her heart drops to her feet.

Beatrix careens forward her arms, shooting out lightning from her fingertips. It explodes against thin air, rippling the sky. Light distorts, breaking apart and resembling the barrier outside Alfea. 

The terrain transforms instantly, revealing wrecked buildings. Rubble and scorch marks sully the mountainside, barely anything remains. 

“Welcome to Aster Dell,” Beatrix says gruffly, getting her breathing under control. She’s bent over with her hands on her knees. “It was a beautiful place. Full of people just trying to live their lives. Till one winter when Burned Ones surrounded the settlement, and a military unit from Alfea decided that destroying the creatures was more important than the lives of the people here.” 

Bloom can’t accept this. “This isn’t real,” she denies, shuffling backward a few steps. “You’re making this happen somehow.” 

“I’m piercing the magic veil that Queen Luna placed to hide the atrocities that happened here,” Beatrix explains with shaky breaths. She overexerted herself, and Bloom feels her consciousness slip for a moment. “Think about that. Leader of our realm tried to erase a war crime.”

No. This isn’t real. It’s too much like the First World, like _Earth_. Wars break out every other month on Earth. People fight over oil and other natural resources. The United States demands too much while other countries beg for the bare minimum. 

“I was born here, and my family died here,” softly admits Beatrix, who now stands tall. Despite her injuries, she still pushes herself to remain strong. “Two days before your First World birthday.”

Bloom massages her collarbone. “So you think that… my family was killed here,” she whispers, unbelieving of Beatrix’s words.

“Not think. Know,” the air fairy declares, her gaze softening. Vulnerability is something Beatrix doesn’t express, and it disarms Bloom, leaving her breathless. “‘Cause everyone here died. Except me… and you.” 

Bloom stammers, “I don’t understand. How could you know?”

“I saw it. I saw the bodies, the death.” Beatrix shakes her head, hugging her arms around herself. “Then someone scooped me up, carried me away. As we ran, I saw them, walking through the carnage like conquering heroes.”

Bloom can see the disgust plain as day on her features. She’s sick to her stomach as she speaks. 

“Who did you see?”

Beatrix lists mirthlessly, “Dowling, Silva, Harvey.”

Bloom’s mouth twists, disbelief evident. “You were a baby. How would you know if that was real? How would you know–”

Beatrix interjects with a sharp gaze, “‘Cause the woman who saved me used her magic to burn the memory into my mind. Sound familiar?” 

“Rosalind,” Bloom gasps, slowly connecting the pieces. “She rescued you?” 

“She rescued _us_.”

Bloom doesn’t know what to believe. Beatrix continues to explain that Rosalind had a crisis of conscience, couldn’t bring herself to murder innocent people. She says that Dowling, Silva, and Harvey staged a coup, carried out the mission. 

Bloom doesn’t want to believe a word she says. Soulmates be damned, none of this adds up. She knows the school’s staff. At least has interacted with them on different occasions. One of them is her friend’s fucking dad after all. 

There’s no way. 

They’re not monsters. Bloom even voices that to Beatrix, tells her with every ounce of her being that this can’t be true. 

But, what Beatrix says next shakes her to the core: “Then why are they covering it up?” 

The illusion veil cascades back down, once more concealing the village. Bloom feels disgusted with the world. No matter who decimated the settlement it doesn’t negate the fact that everyone here died. She doesn’t know if she wants to cry or burn the world down. 

Likely neither, but maybe both. 

It’s golden hour when they decide to head back. Soft winds cool their skin but also irritate Beatrix’s wound, although she denies it. 

Bloom doesn’t admit it aloud, but the glow the sun casts on Beatrix is divine. Her normally dark eyes turn to honey, and her normally pale complexion is saturated in a steady radiance. 

Beatrix notices her looking. “What?” she asks, lifting herself into the car with difficulty. “Don’t tell me you’re going to confess your undying love for me.”

Bloom scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Aww, it’s okay, Bloom,” Beatrix coos tauntingly. “You’re not ready to admit it to yourself.” 

“Just because I feel your pain doesn’t mean _jackshit_ ,” Bloom snaps, voice tight and sharp with fear. She breathes in to steady herself. Keep it together. “How I feel about you has not changed.”

* * *

Beatrix looks ready to collapse. 

They were talking about Rosalind again, Bloom asking if Beatrix was a changeling, too. She explained that Rosalind left her in the care of a close friend while Dowling stashed Bloom away in the First World. 

“Why would Dowling bring me to the Otherworld if she killed my family?” Bloom asks, staring straight ahead. It feels as if everything Beatrix has told her thus far is a lie. 

Beatrix winces, cradling her stomach. “Not sure she’s put the pieces together yet, and if I were you, I’d keep it that way.” 

“Which is exactly something you’d say if you were making this up,” Bloom snaps skeptically, glancing over at the shorter girl. “To keep me from comparing notes.”

“Why would I make up a story about our teacher being murderers?” Beatrix mutters, cringing when they rattle over a rough path. Bloom is hit with the spike in pain, feeling like death. “Where’s the gain in that?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you’re experiencing delirium?” Bloom rebukes, shoulders lifting in befuddlement. “I can’t trust you.” 

“You shouldn’t trust me until I’ve proven myself trustworthy,” Beatrix says around a groan of pain. “Even if we are soulmates.” 

Bloom scoffs, beginning to hate that word. “This is manipulation. I see right through your tricks. You’re trying to lull me into a sense of security.” 

“What you need are answers,” Beatrix continues, leaning further into the seat. 

“Yeah, from a woman who died and left nothing but cryptic messages and half-truths,” Bloom sighs, digging her nails into her collarbone. It’s a tic she has. One that really only appears when she’s stressed. “We need more.”

“And we’ll get it,” Beatrix assures. “Because Rosalind’s alive.” 

Bloom frowns, almost veering off the road. Looking over at Beatrix for longer than she should, she inhales sharply. “Dowling told me she was dead.”

“Dowling imprisoned her,” Beatrix bites out, correcting her. She shifts in her seat, her entire torso lighting up in flames. “I’m at Alfea to break her out.” 

The car swerves out of Bloom’s control, screeching to a halt. “Shit!” Beatrix shouts, lurching forward. The seat belt digs into her injury, and Bloom seriously wishes their pain receptors weren’t magically connected. 

Beatrix hastily climbs down and immediately submerges into mud. Dowling, Silva, and Harvey appear like smoke, threateningly closing in. 

Dowling goes straight for Beatrix, slapping bracelets onto her wrists that immediately burn and sink into flesh. “What are these things?” Beatrix whimpers. 

Bloom resists the urge to scream from their shared torture. Whipping open her door, she races to Beatrix and cries out, “Stop it! Stop!” 

Silva already has a grip on her, impeding her. She struggles against him, tears welling in her eyes. Beatrix is holding back a sob as she claws at her wrists. 

“Take Bloom,” Dowling orders, expression cold as ice. Her hard, stony eyes gaze into hers. “We’ll handle this.”

Harvey helps Silva restrain her, attempting to reassure her that everything will be alright.

Beatrix is in unadulterated agony, and Bloom is overwhelmed with her suffering. 

_Nothing_ will be alright. 

They didn’t even get to eat.

* * *

Bloom silently sags into the warm embrace of her friends. Aisha, Musa, and Terra wrap around her as she trembles in their arms. Over their shoulders, she sees Beatrix practically fall out of the backseat. Their eyes find each other and understanding passes through them. 

When they break apart, Aisha speaks first, “We were so worried about you.” 

Then, Musa, “Legit freaking out.”

And finally, Terra, “What’d that bitch do?”

“Nothing,” Bloom stresses, jaw clenched. Most of her body feels ready to cease. “She’s not some monster.”

“Bloom, she killed Callum,” Terra interrupts, eyeing her with concern. 

Bloom falters. “Who told you that?”

“Dowling, Silva, Harvey,” Musa recites, looking at her warily. 

“Do you have proof?” She asks with narrowed eyes.

Aisha shakes her head. “Why would they say it if it wasn’t true,” she cuts in. 

“You never know why people really do things,” Bloom mutters gravely. 

The girls all look at her like she’s crazy. Maybe Bloom has lost it. She wouldn’t put it past herself. It’s difficult to think past the throbbing of her wrists. She wants to rip off her skin. 

When she tries to leave, Aisha blocks her path. “Maybe we should go in and get some rest.” 

“You guys go.” Bloom steps around her, distracted. “I’ll, uh, meet you there.”

She only gets a few steps before someone walks up to her. “Are you okay?” Sky questions, towering over her. His light hair gleams in the moonlight. “I saw you ditch assembly, I should’ve gone with you. She should’ve–” 

“She didn’t kidnap me, Sky,” Bloom refutes before he can even finish that sentence. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I’m just… happy you’re back,” he confesses softly. 

Bloom looks to the floor, finding the gravel interesting. She knows what this is. They’ve been dancing around this tension for a while. Her hands won’t stop shaking, reminding her of… her soulmate. 

Silva emerges from the fairy hall, calling over the Specialist. “Sky?”

He leaves and all she can think about is that she cares for Beatrix more than she’s ever willing to admit.

* * *

Bloom is running on willpower and the comfort that Beatrix is still alive. At least, she assumes the lingering pain is an indicator of that. 

Slipping into Dowling’s office, she stands in the entryway and watches as the headmistress writes at her desk. “What were those bracelets?”

Dowling pauses, unruffled. “Runic limiters,” she answers curtly. “They prevent a fairy from using their magic.” 

Bloom rushes forward, looking down at her. “They were barbaric,” she spits, sending Dowling a smoldering glare. “You tore her skin open.”

Dowling clasps her hands together, noting Bloom’s blood-stained hands. “You’re certain you’re uninjured.” 

Bloom’s jaw ticks and her eyes darken. “I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me.”

“Still, you were with Beatrix for a while,” Dowling retorts, voice unwavering. “What did you two talk about all that time?”

Bloom leans on her desk, glancing away for less than a second. “Clothes, boys, who could drive faster. It was a joyride, Miss Dowling. That’s all.” 

“Well, perhaps next time you’ll choose your company more wisely.”

“You can count on it.” Bloom stalks away, figuring out how she’ll talk to Beatrix.

* * *

Midnight collects her screams. 

Bloom had scouted the guardhouse where Beatrix was kept, deciding not to sneak in until she crafted a better plan of stealth. Specialists were crawling all over the area, serving as 24/7 protection. There was no way of getting through them without causing a commotion. 

It’s a little before midnight when she falls into bed, curling into her comforter. She’s completely worn out and on any other day, she would’ve passed out a long time ago. At least she can finally rest. Too enervated to register any more pain. She closes her eyes only to open them moments later. 

Her skull is screaming, her wrists stinging. She twists and scuttles in bed, shrieking, willing the agony to end. She’s crying out in pain, clutching to her throbbing head. 

Someone cradles her to them, stroking her arms and humming gently to her. Bloom can’t tell if she feels smothered or comforted. She’s shaking too hard to move. 

Crying, moaning, labored breathing. It all blurs as someone tenderly rocks her. Two other spots on the bed sink, not that she really notices. 

Minutes turn into an hour, and finally, it ends. Her mind is numb. She dissociated a while ago, blocking out everything. When she comes to, barely aware of the three other girls, she musters out, “Soulmates shouldn’t exist.” Her voice quavers, thick with grief. 

The girls share looks with one another, slowly connecting the dots. They don’t say a thing, continuing to hold her. 

Of course Bloom’s soulmate of all people would be the villain of her story.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic!!
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment! <3


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